


The Circus of Riddles

by The_Fictionist



Series: AU Twists [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:34:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3569855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fictionist/pseuds/The_Fictionist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even today, faeries manage to lure unwitting humans into their circles. And the Fey King is perhaps the worst of them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was the most amazing place Harry had ever seen.

Tents bathed in moonlight, fairy lights twining between paths and arcing overhead, lit signs guiding visitors along in a blazing array of colour. Beautiful music followed along on his heels. He stared around, eyes wide.

The Dursleys would have hated it. The magic of everything, the sheer fantasy in each of the tents, the way nothing here was normal. It was a place for freaks, so maybe that was what made it the perfect Halloween destination for a scrawny teenager with nowhere to belong in the world.

The circus had everything. Acrobats, illusionists, lion tamers, contortionists, men and women like animals, flame eaters, waterbenders, palm readers with sad, knowing eyes…

Harry had no money for candy floss plumes as large as his head, or for the sticky-sweet caramel apples on sticks, but just looking was enough.

Looking, and never wanting to leave the magnificence of it all.

_The Circus of Riddles._   
_Open Halloween Night Only._

* * *

 

Harry had been told about the circus the night before. Handed a flyer and a ticket by a boy in the park.

Handsome, dark-eyed, charming.

They got on straight away.

* * *

 

It was late. The crowd was thinning, and Harry knew that he should be getting home. He just … well. This whole place was a maze of wonders. Every new tent he entered held something strange and fantastic, but he couldn't seem to find any of the old ones.

He tried heading back, but he must have gotten turned around somewhere, as the path he was on now was just as much of a mystery as the one before. He could find no way to retrace his steps.

He tried looking for someone to follow out, but before he realized it, before he'd even seriously thought about wanting to leave, the people around him had vanished.

All that remained were the acts.

The dancers kept dancing, the contortionists writhed in the air like distorted angels. The magic of it all kept flowing around him ceaselessly. No sign of an end to the show.

And he still hadn't seen Tom at all.

"Excuse me," he asked as politely as possible. "Do you know the way out?"

They pointed.

Harry hesitated, pressed for more information – but all they did was point. Point and stare at him, silent tragedy writ upon their faces.

Harry swallowed thickly. The first trickle of fear crept down his spine. He told himself that he was being ridiculous.

He set out nonetheless, and kept moving in that direction as much as possible, every so often asking again to confirm his path.

The tents and acts seemed no more familiar to him than the others he'd passed, but Harry hoped that maybe he was just taking a different path to the exit.

He eventually came to a larger tent, set apart from the others. He wetted his lips, glanced back the way he came, before pushing aside the hangings and stepping inside.

It was full of mirrors, like a funhouse. He could glimpse distorted reflections, flashes of things out of the corner of his eyes that could have been himself or something else just as easily.

"Hello?"

He pushed on boldly, shoulders squaring with determination. He was probably overreacting – he'd find a way out eventually, or someone would show him. The circus couldn't be that big, it didn't look it from the outside.

It was disorientating. He often found his palms hitting glass, instead of a path, and saw his own frightened eyes and pale face looking back at him more than a few times. He ended up keeping one hand against the wall to track his movements.

He ran, breathing heavily, heart pounding faster and faster until – he broke air, and felt the tension fade from his shoulders.

"Tom…"

The boy was lounging on a throne in the middle of the hall of mirrors, top hat jaunty on his head and a smirk on his lips.

"Hello, Harry," the other boy purred. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah – yeah, it's been great," Harry said, stepping closer. "I'm afraid I'm a little lost now, though."

"Oh no, you're exactly where you're supposed to be, I assure you."

Harry's brow furrowed at that. Tom's circus crop tapped against the floor in time with his heartbeat, quick and frantic, getting faster as Harry's unease returned.

The other boy pushed himself up with the crop, before sauntering towards him.

"You told me, Harry –" The crop swished in the air as Tom continued. He could feel it pressing into his back, guiding him closer step by step until their bodies were pressed together. "That you may as well disappear, for no one would ever notice." The older boy brushed his fringe away from his forehead.

It finally occurred to Harry to take a step back. Then another. The mirrors flashed at him from every side, and when he glanced at the six main ones surrounding the throne – he nearly jumped out of his skin.

Tom stared at him from all of them, a smile on his – their? – lips.

"You can't keep me here," Harry said, mouth running utterly dry. Tom's smile just broadened, an impish curve to his lips, as he advanced on him leisurely.

"It's _magical_ , isn't it? My circus?"

"Your circus?" Harry's eyes widened. The rest took the split second after to register. "As in – no. Magic's not real. It must be some kind of trick."

That was what the Dursleys had always told him. There was no such thing as magic, as much as Harry might have wished it sometimes.

"You wanted to get away from your family, Harry. And I've seen how they treat you. You can stay here with us instead. With me," Tom crooned, following after him. "I'd want you. You're delectable … I could just eat you up."

It was mad. Just mad. Harry fled the Hall of Mirrors, the sound of the ringmaster's laughter echoing in his ears.

The tents had changed when he went through them next.

Gone was the air of wonder. Though something of the quality remained, the performers now had cruel smiles and crueller eyes and – someone was screaming.

Harry whipped around, following the sound with the urge to help. To find out what was going on. To get out and escape … anything! What had seemed fun before, was now just monstrous and sinister.

He saw a girl getting dragged by some unseen force into a tent, body writhing along the ground as she thrashed.

A boy was being twirled between the contortionists, spinning faster and faster in an ever giddier dance until his bones snapped and they fell on his broken body with greedy sounds.

Everywhere, the circus visitors who lingered appeared to be suffering similar fates.

Worst of all, Harry had no idea how to help them.

He carried on, sprinting with no real sense of direction, until he felt somebody grab hold of his arm. He rounded on them, ready to attack, only to come face-to-face with a red-haired girl with terrified eyes. One of the dancers.

"Have you eaten anything?" she demanded. The question took him aback, and she gave him a shake.

"No," Harry managed.

"Come with me. You still have a chance. This way." She dragged him along a pathway, keeping to the shadows. He had little choice but to follow. The sound of screaming faded behind them.

"What's happening?" Harry asked breathlessly. "Who are you?"

"It's a fairy ring," she said. "How can you not know that? Have humans forgotten?"

Harry's brain froze. A … fairy ring?

She must have caught something on his face. "A circus. Modern day fairy ring." She continued to tug him along, pressing him against the wall of a tent at any signs of movement ahead. "If you'd eaten something, you'd be truly lost. Even if you got out, no mortal food could compare. You wouldn't be able to stomach it; it would kill you. We need to get you out before dawn. Once the sun rises, no mortal will ever be able to see you and you'll never be able to leave."

"Who are you?" Harry whispered. "Why are you helping me? You're – aren't you a fairy?"

"I haven't been in Riddle's court as long as most. And how do you imagine the circus gets its performers?" She met his eyes.

Harry's insides ran cold.

"They're all people he took?"

"Interrupt a fairy ring on Samhain, and dying young might just be the kindest fate you will get. I was cursed to dance to death – or madness. It depends which fairy takes you," she said hollowly. "Who was yours?"

"Tom," he said. Harry wetted his lips when she gave him a look askance. "He said this is his circus."

She abruptly stopped, staring at him, before recoiling as if scalded.

"The Fey King."

Harry suddenly felt contagious.

"I'm guessing that's bad?"

She was shaking, utterly pale.

"He has a room of mirrors. He sees everything that goes on. He already knows I'm helping you – he must. And he knows exactly where we are – I'm sorry," she cried. "He's playing with you."

"Seeing doesn't mean touching," Harry tried. "If he's far away, with his mirrors…"

She shook her head, backing away, looking at him with the most awful pity. Then her eyes slid behind him.

Harry knew instantly what must have caught her attention.

Cool arms slid around his torso, tight as chains. Lips brushed against his neck, with a hint of sharp teeth behind.

"I'm everywhere and nowhere, Harry. Just like your reflection. Begone, little weasel. Before I lose my patience."

She disappeared.

Harry immediately began struggling viciously. Clawing, biting, whatever he could think of. Then there was another one of Tom – whether real or shade, he didn't know.

The second after that, there was another, and another. Not quite an unseen force, perhaps not even truly there at all, but nonetheless they were enough to restrain him. Harry was bound and dragged back, thrown forward on his knees before the throne.

Pale fingers threaded into his hair, as Harry glared up furiously at the fey prince.

"Toffee apple?"

He kept his mouth shut, teeth clenched, remembering what the girl had said. Maybe … just maybe, if he didn't eat anything, this would all turn out okay.

Somewhat unnervingly, Tom simply smiled again, and the riding crop teased over his lips. Harry would have spat insult, betrayal, if he dared open his mouth.

Tom let go of his hair so he could pluck up a frankly delicious-looking toffee apple from a silver platter by his side. The fairy held it tantalizingly before him, eyebrow raising, before taking a bite, tongue flicking out to swipe the sweet juice from his lips.

Harry swallowed, scowled, and looked away.

Tom gave a long-suffering sigh. The reflections rippled again, the shades stepping out.

"Make sure he eats something," the ringmaster said. "I'd hate to be accused of offering a trick without a treat. In fact –" There was a cruel gleam to Tom's eyes as their gazes met. "Isn't Halloween the day you eat so many sweets that you feel sick?"

The reflections swarmed him.

* * *

 

It was Halloween Night.

The Circus of Riddles had appeared once more out of the darkness and the mist, an enticing display of glittering lights and inviting smells, dazzling displays and stunning feats, meant to awe and impress any traveller that was coaxed into its ring.

Harry would have been happy once again to never to eat anything sweet again.

His lips were sticky with toffee apples, candy floss, and a delectable array of chocolates.

And of course Riddle, bastard that he was, kept plying him with more.

Harry had a feeling he got some type of sick satisfaction about mimicking the events of last year. A macabre reminder of his circumstances.

Since the girl – Ginny – had been taken by a fairy of revelry, she'd been cursed to dance until she dropped – unable to stop, like a puppet twitched on strings.

Maybe she'd been lucky. It wasn't just humans who feasted on Halloween.

But the Fey King demanded so much more than that.

He demanded everything. A thousand different mirrors and a thousand different roles for him to play, eternally reflected in a cold world of glass … lover, jester, servant, pet. Every inch of his performance was scrutinized for fault, and Harry had learned early on that fault was not tolerated.

It all depended on Riddle's mood, and much like his name suggested, his mood could change by the minute.

The crop tapped idly as he was clutched close to the Fey King's chest. Tom was seemingly languid now, but for the wicked sharpness in his eyes. Blood-red ribbons wrapped tight around Harry's wrists as he tried not to squirm. Not much else for a costume left.

He hadn't seen anything human since he first got here, certainly not his old clothes.

Tom kissed his neck with sweet lips, nipping at his ear.

"Will you impress me tonight, Harry?" the Fey King teased. "I'd hate to have to eat you if you don't find me a suitable substitute."

Harry stared stiffly ahead, cheeks flushed.

"I always impress you."

Tom laughed at that.

He wondered if the Dursleys had ever expected him to join the freak show quite so literally.

Soon the place would be swarming with hapless lost souls and soon-to-be victims, and the performances would begin.

And the fairy ring would stain with blood.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry didn’t even know how many humans died during his first night with the Circus of Riddles. 

 

Over the course of the year he heard lots of different versions - so many, that we used their blood to paint the tents that lovely red colour you see; only the grown ups because adults do not make good fey; only the little children because their hearts taste the sweetest. 

  
Each fey had their own preferences. All brought tribute and sacrifice to their King. 

 

When he first arrived, Harry thought he might be able to save them. The victims whose laughter sped faster and faster until the mirth in their eyes turned to terror as they couldn’t breathe and clutched their throats desperately. The young fey, like Ginny, who’d yet to turn their hearts to glass and were as horrified as he was. He’d thought he’d be able to save himself, because wasn’t that what happened in a fairytale? 

 

“Not in the old ones,” Tom had told him, with a beautiful smile. 

 

Tom told him a lot of things that first year, but it took Harry a while still to see the truth. Fey couldn’t lie, but Tom had a silver tongue that flashed so bright it could be blinding. Still, through that first awful year, Harry listened. He listened to Tom’s victory, his bragging, his flattery, and he learned. 

 

* * *

 

_ Look in the mirror, Harry. See how they used to leave offerings so we wouldn’t come in and out uninvited? Milk and honey and bits of bread. I never much cared for milk and honey myself, I like apples. The forbidden fruit tastes all the sweeter,no? _

 

It was Harry’s first night. 

 

The nausea rolled in his throat, his lips sticky-sweet from caramel apples and toffees and candy floss. He had never been allowed sweets with the Dursleys, though Dudley ate chocolates by the handful. The few he’d managed to have over the years - quickly at school on the last day, or when someone else was around and the Dursleys couldn’t say no - had tasted nothing like these. 

 

They melted on the tongue, rich and perfect. The candyfloss was the pinkest, fluffiest candyfloss in existence. The chocolates were beautiful, each one individually and intricately designed and frosted with no two the same. 

  
Tom’s shades clamped a hand over his mouth so he couldn’t spit the confectionaries out, cut off his breathing so he had to swallow or suffocate. Fingers stroked his hair, crooned praises and encouragement. 

  
Harry twisted and bucked all the same, and the fingers wound tight. Tugged at his scalp, holding him steady and immobile. 

 

The same pattern, again and again and again - Harry heard the clock strike midnight. It took until six in the morning for him to swallow without being forced. 

 

His knees ached from the cold floor, he felt sick, and he never wanted to touch a toffee apple again. 

 

Tom let him stop then.

 

* * *

 

_ Look in the mirror, Harry. See your friend? See how he withers and starves like a rose in winter? It would be such a pity if that happened to you. Remember, I cannot tell lies. The Fey do everything better, and once you come here, you should be grateful for the hospitality. No one leaves the circle without a price.  _

 

That was the first time he tried to escape. 

 

Tom kept him in a jewelry box of stolen trophies. It had taken Harry weeks to convince Tom’s mirror cleaner - a timid, bashful boy called Neville - to secret him the key. He’d crept out through the night, thinking that maybe under the cover of shadows Tom wouldn’t be able to see him. 

 

He’d reached the edge of the clearing and been able to go no further. Hands slamming, fists beating, against an invisible wall only a metre away from the final tent.

Tom came to find him, laughing. Wrapped a consoling arm around his shoulders and reminded him that once a human ate fairy food they could never really leave. They sat in front of Tom’s mirror, as Tom plied him with nectar and honeyed mead and sweet wines until Harry’s head spun and then Tom laughed again. He wasn’t allowed to look away. 

  
In the reflection, Neville starved. Tried desperately to eat human food, to satisfy the hunger, to ease the burn in his throat, only to vomit blood. 

  
Tom loved hope, when he could take it away. 

* * *

 

_ Look in the mirror, Harry. See how we make changelings? I’ve always rather admired cuckoos, you know. Maybe you’ve seen them before. Little seeds that bloom into rotten fruit, and bring a massacre home for Christmas.  _

 

That was the first time he snapped. 

 

He punched Tom across the face after a particularly cruel comment, to see if fairies bled like humans did. Watched Tom’s head crack back, the top hat falling to the floor. Watched him trace a finger through the cut in his lip, crusted black with a blood no human could ever have. Watched as his finger came away specked with blood. 

 

“Maybe you’re a changeling too,” Tom crooned. “Vicious, pretty little thing that you are. You would make an excellent fairy, so why keep fighting me?”

  
Harry watched the blood vanish by the time Tom had crossed the three steps of distance between them, watched as Tom’s skin became as flawless as it always had been, as if Harry had never hit him at all. The blood on his finger was the only sign that he’d ever been wounded at all.  

 

“I bet you’re as bloodthirsty as I am,” Tom said, pressing the blood into Harry’s mouth with a cruel twist of a smile. It tasted as poison-sweet as everything in Tom’s realm, too sugary when blood should taste like metal and salt. “I bet you’d love to rip my heart out with your teeth. I can see the hate in those defiant eyes whenever you look at me.” 

  
Harry turned his head away, jaw clenched as he itched to swing again.    
Tom’s lips caressed his ear as he leaned in to laugh, voice dropping to a whisper. “Pity for you, the only substance that hurts a fairy is iron.”

  
Harry flinched away.

  
Tom laughed harder and pulled back. “Humans,” the Fey King mocked. “Such a fragile species, maybe that’s why your frantic little hearts make such exquisite delicacies.” 

 

Harry remembered reading that human blood had four grams of iron in it and smiled.    
  


* * *

 

_ Look in the mirror, Harry. See how humans make deals and think they can get away with not paying the price. You wanted to escape for a night, I gave you eternity. You should be grateful.   _

 

That was the first time Tom kissed him. 

 

It was the second month, a gleam of wicked and frustrated hunger in the ringmaster’s eyes, and then lips crushed against his own like Tom could just eat him up like he always threatened. Fingers curled tight into his hair, another pressed into his hip as if Tom thought he could claim him fully by the force of touch alone. Imprint himself on every inch of Harry’s skin. Like holding him tight enough could finally make him understand and surrender.

 

A startled sound stole out of Harry’s throat, more at the timing than anything else. 

It was his first kiss and nothing like the clumsy and fluttering thing he’d imagined.

 

Tom backed him up with slow, stalking movements - palms sliding chilly down to Harry’s shoulders, smoothing over his bare chest before pressing him against the closest of the six mirrors. 

 

Harry’s knees jellied than he cared to admit.  He wanted, in a way he would never admit. An intoxicated, giddy sort of want for magic and extraordinary things and puddled dangerous pleasure. He clutched hold of the Fey King’s shoulders with his mind racing. 

 

Now, more than when he’d tried to escape or attack, Tom seemed angry. Burning with a quiet and possessive fury as Harry panted for breath when they parted. Their faces stayed inches apart. 

 

No one had ever looked at him with the intentness Tom did. Seen him, where the Dursleys went to great lengths to pretend he’d never existed at all. 

 

Maybe that was what made the heat pool in the pit of his belly. 

 

“You are mine,” the Fey King spoke the words with the same slow, predatory pace. Like he knew he had Harry trapped in a corner, nowhere to go, and everything was simply the inevitable conclusion that he was too stupid to have reached yet. Yet, strangely and inexplicably fond for so obvious a rage. 

 

Tom’s hand trailed up again, closing around his throat, baring it back as he tipped Harry’s head against the shining glass behind him. It wasn’t a painful grip, holding more than constricting. Considering him. His movements stayed slow, his eyes drank up Harry’s reactions and every flicker of emotion. 

  
Harry swallowed and refused to look away. Heart pounding, Tom’s breath puffing against his lips. His every nerve ending felt set alight. 

 

“You entered my ring of your own volition,” Tom continued, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth as he stood almost entranced. “You ate my food-”

 

“-Not by my own choice,” Harry interrupted then. “You forced that apple down my throat. That makes a difference, doesn’t it? Even to fey? I didn’t willingly eat a thing until the day after.”   
  
Tom’s eyes darkened again and Harry knew it was true. Finally, properly, knew it was true though he’d had suspicions for a while now. 

 

Harry felt a dizzying, addictive rush of power unlike anything he’d ever felt before. 

 

Tom pressed hard against his thigh.

 

Harry brushed a mockingly chaste kiss to Tom’s lips - sweet as the Witch’s Gingerbread House. “God, you must have been desperate to have me to try that trick,” he said.

 

He couldn’t leave, that was true, but that was about the extent of it wasn’t it? He wasn’t turning into a fey like Ginny, his heart wasn’t an apple ripe for Tom’s plucking and appetite. 

 

Tom could bully and intimidate and seduce, but he didn’t  _ own.  _

 

“I’m not yours,” Harry breathed, lightheaded with the realization, dotting kisses to Tom’s creamy throat next, hearing his breath stutter. “And it drives...you...crazy.” 

 

Tom practically quivered beneath him, lips parting as Harry brushed his finger over it, somewhere between even more livid and hopelessly aroused. 

  
A victorious smirk tugged at Harry’s lips. 

  
That seemed to decide it - Tom shoved him hard against the mirror again and crushed their lips together. Slammed Harry’s wrists above his head, pinning them in place and stretching him out against the glass. 

 

Harry would have laughed if he could. 

 

“You will be,” Tom said - and his true nature had never been so obvious, the dark cracks behind the facade of beauty and charm and all the wonders of the circus. Snow White’s apple, lovely and rotten at the core. “You can’t fight me for an eternity, and you have nowhere else to go either way.” Tom’s nails dug into his chest. “Humans never last long in a fairy ring, you’ll be mine by the end of the year, I promise you that.”

 

His teeth grazed along Harry’s throat, sending a shiver down his spine all over again. A small moan escaped his throat and Tom devoured that greedily instead. 

 

He learned that night that Tom would do anything to possess his heart.   
  
A fey should have known better than to offer 'anything'. 

* * *

 

_ Look in the mirror, Harry.  I have seen your heart and it is mine. I can give you anything, everything. Are you happy here, now?  _

 

He traded his heart six months in for knowledge, when he was reasonably certain Tom wouldn’t devour it at first opportunity. Tom wanted to relish his long-awaited and craved ownership first and oh he did. Harry learned about perfection, his world narrowed down to glass. 

Harry no longer quite felt like laughing after that, but for the first time a way he could win seemed to be in sight.  

  
Because he learnt about the mirrors that Tom spent his life peering in.  He learnt about the six mirrors and the six shades that protected them from damage. Tom’s key to everything. Tom’s power. 

 

Tom loved telling him about the mirrors, once he had Harry’s heart and thought he’d won everything. He stopped viewing him as a threat to be conquered or a prize to be won, and Harry became something quaint and amusing instead. Jester, lover, servant, pet. 

  
He was the novelty of a living, breathing human in a fairy ring where over time all Fey things turned as cold and hard as glass and reflected nothing but themselves. Harry wasn’t cold. He made surprising Tom into a form of art, he kept impressing, and so he kept living.  

  
And if he could destroy the mirrors...

Well, that would be the most interesting thing of all, wouldn’t it?

* * *

 

 

_ Look in the mirror, Tom. This is how you lose him.  _

 

It was the most amazing place Harry had ever seen.

Tents bathed in moonlight, fairy lights twining between paths and arcing overhead, lit signs guiding visitors along in a blazing array of colour. Beautiful music followed along on his heels.

It was the most terrible place Harry had ever been.

The musicians played without pause until their fingers bled. Behind the graceful movements of the acrobats and the dancers lay exhaustion, bone deep, cracking the soles of their feet and aching in the marrow of their bones like the fiercest hunger. The contortionists felt their bodies snap like dry kindling as they twisted into impossible shapes. The lion tamers and the magical creature lovers doomed never to hold each other or speak the same tongue again.

Every person entering the ring was different, finding what they most desperately wanted to see and most desired. Finding the tents that were meant for them, the acts that most called to their souls, the paths that they would never be able to return from.

He hadn’t left the hall of mirrors in a year. 

 

Humans laughed and smiled, pointing at exhibits with the same wide-eyed wonder that Harry had once felt. Harry watched the guests, the sound of their merriness a more fantastic tune than any by the Fey performers, their movements more entrancing. 

  
Everything about them drew him in, where once it had been the perfect mirage of The Circus of Riddles that did that.

He was never going to let the Fey King have anyone else, no matter what it took. He had to do this. If he didn’t, he was damned. He’d lost too much already, bargained too much. He’d only get once chance.

Harry kept his face as composed as he could, ribbons still streaming bloody from his wrists and from around his throat in a tight loop. He squared his shoulders and kept his breathing even.

Now that he knew to look for it, he could see Tom’s dark eyes tracking his movements in every reflective surface. Eager, delighting in this new game as if they hadn’t played enough games already.  

 

Harry’s heart pounded harder in his chest every time their gazes met.  

It felt like the first night all over again, through a mirror darkly.

 

Maybe this was an old fairy-tale, with no happy endings or hope of saving himself when he gave his heart to a Fey prince, but even the old tales had a victor. 

  
And this time, Harry would win.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

For better or worse, humans are full of blood. Enough blood to paint lips and even circus tents - certainly enough blood to drop a Fey Prince dead if they put enough effort into it. Iron, such a tricky and commonplace thing. Certainly enough blood to destroy a mirror.

Maybe that was why Fey Kings were so obsessed with hearts, it was like owning an enemy's hand grenade.

Harry's chest felt achingly, unbearably, empty without his own but Fey Kings should know better than to think simply putting a heart in a treasure box was enough to neutralize their power. Hearts were not trophies to be won in duress or negotiation, as hearts are not things than can be negotiated with. They are too wild. That, Harry had learned.

He could always feel it, the chill of it as it resided in an icy, glass eternity. He needed his heart back to have a chance of escape - he hadn't known that when he traded it. Tom had delighted in telling him after. It didn't matter.

He walked through the paths of the circus, collecting coins and keys and scraps of metal.

Tom's eyes followed, but they didn't see, fixed too hungrily on a prize thought long since conquered.

The mirrors were weaker, Tom had told him, on Circus nights. Closer to the human world, flung open to allow the unsuspecting travellers to enter the immortal court and find their distractions and their doom among the revelry.

He'd only get one shot at this. If he had his heart, it would have betrayed him, pounding desperately against his ribs as he finally approached the hall of mirrors once more. Battle-ready. But he didn't have a heart anymore.

"You dare return to me empty handed?" Tom's voice softened with danger, with outrage. He rose to stand, eyes dark, fingers white-knuckled around his ringmaster's cane like a duelist held their sword.

"Empty handed? No," Harry said. He drew out a bloodied handful of coins from his pocket. "I brought you your favourite game. You have plenty of tributes offered to you without mine - that was never what you kept me for."

Tom stopped in front of him, eyes narrowed. Despite himself he looked intrigued. His gaze moved slowly over the blood smearing Harry's fingers and he wet his lips. "And what's that? I have your heart already, _pet._ I claimed it in a fair exchange - you cannot accuse me of trickery this time." Tom strode forward, nothing like the charming and playful boy Harry had first met. "Your world is my world. Has seeing humans made you forget that so quickly?"

"It's not enough though, is it? You still want more. Not of them, of me."

Tom stopped.  
Harry affected casual and raised his brows.

"If I can get my heart back tonight," he said. "You will release every turned fey and prisoner you are keeping captive in your court."

"And if you cannot?"

"Then I am yours," Harry said. "You can have my soul, my mind, my heart and my body for what they're worth. I won't fight you."

"You imagine your soul is worth an entire fairy ring?" Tom laughed. It was the high, cold laugh that Harry loathed more than anything.

He held his ground, squared his shoulders. "So you fear losing then?"

He needed to get near those mirrors.

"Deal," Tom snapped. Prideful things, fey, and Tom was one the most arrogant of them. The thought of failure barely even occurred to the creature, he was so ready to think he had won already.

* * *

Harry drew in a shaky breath.

He stepped forward into the shadow circus in the mirror, a distorted reflection of the dazzling one Harry had left behind. This time, there was nothing of the amazement, of the wonder or the beauty - inside Tom's mirrors the truth of all things were revealed.

Tom stood behind him, leaning against the doorway with a hooded amusement in his eyes.  
"Remember, Harry. You have until day break. After that - you're mine."

The only colour in the cold world facing him were the hearts. They shone in the darkness like glowing balls of vibrant light, through frozen bodies. The fairy lights that lit up the circus Harry had seen before. All of the once-humans were petrified where they fell.

Ginny, with her hands in the air in dance.

Another, a kind looking man with the body of half a man and half a beast twisted on the floor as one of the shapeshifters strained for his hand like a blurred photograph.

A truth-teller Harry had seen with bushy hair gouged fingers into her own eyes until the blood stiffened on her cheeks.

Dozens, upon dozens of hearts and bodies all connected by a pulsating spiderweb of darkness entwining around the tents and all leading to the centre of the circus. To the hall of mirrors.

The circus was vast, bigger even than it looked wandering lost through its hundreds of tents. On first glance finding one heart in all of them seemed an impossible task in six hours. It would take more than six hours to even walk through every room.

But he had to do it, for all of these people. He resolved himself. He had six hours, and Tom's smug smile at his back, but he had grown to know the Fey Prince well. He would not simply bury a heart or cast it somewhere commonplace. He prized his trophy collection too highly.

Harry's heart was in the hall of mirrors where he fell - he was certain of it. A two hour's walk away, but perfectly doable. Though perhaps he should try and avoid touching the black links of shadow ensnaring the others, just to be on the safe side. Even looking at them made him feel uneasy. So, three hours taking in the weaving pace around them. Doable.

He wasn't expecting to make a return journey.

Did all fairy rings look like this, at heart? Fey were tricksters, amoral things but they were not inherently dark creatures from every fairytale Harry had ever heard.

He started forwards with determination, struggling not to feel unnerved by the stillness of this world.

"Remember, Harry," Tom called after him. "You can always surrender, just call my name for help and I'll have you safe and sound in my arms in a moment."

Harry would have turned and sneered - but he didn't want to get sidetracked, twisted up in Riddle's words. It would waste precious time.

Soon, the doorway was out of sight and long in the distance.

Harry dropped his pennies and scraps of metal in a trail of breadcrumbs to keep from getting lost. To keep the labyrinth of the circus from shifting around him spitefully, to mark where he had been. The tents changed in the corners of his eyes - but not when there was iron on the floor.

Iron defeats fairies.

When he ran out of metal, he moved to blood. Life trickling to the ground like one of Tom's scarlet ribbons.

He could do this. He ducked under threads of shadow that stirred eagerly at his passing, as if they would pounce and coil around him, consume him, if only they were given the chance.

He had to do this.

* * *

By the time he reached the hall of mirrors he felt weak and dizzy with blood loss.

The six shades watched him approach.

"I could sit here and watch you bleed out, Harry Potter," Tom said. "Take your time. You only have another three hours. It would be quite the waste though - is that your plan? The boy who could live in a fairy ring come to die?"

Harry's jaw clenched as he came to a stop before them. They blocked his way and he prepared for the possibility of a fight. There were six of them though, and only one of him. He knew how easily they could overwhelm him alone.

"I could help you, you know," Harry murmured. "Look around you - this cannot possibly be what you want. You rule a world of ghosts."

"But I rule."

Harry swallowed at that, wondered what created Fey Kings and how they ended up alone with no one but turned-humans to puppet. Were there not other fairies? Whole communities in forests and immortal courts beyond this shadow?

He remembered the charming, handsome boy he had met in a park and liked so fondly on their first meeting. Maybe it had been a lie - Tom had been so different then, and his dark eyes had been filled with such a different kind of knowing as his gaze trailed Harry's worn clothes and the glass sharp edges of his ribs jutting out in his skinniness.

"All empires fall, Tom. Even yours. Nothing lasts forever."

"I do." The shades shifted then, the comment seeming a final word on their conversation. "And I could have given you an eternity too, Harry. By my side."

"On my knees at your feet."

The shades lunged then, as mercurial as the real thing. Harry slammed his bloodied palms up and watched them recoil. But it didn't really hurt, without a heart. A small sting rather than a flash of a blade. It wouldn't win a fight. It bought him enough time to send himself crashing into the nearest mirror.

Tom gasped at the shock of it, clutching his chest.  
"What are you doing? That is not our game-"

Harry smashed another mirror. His ears rang, skin slicing up under the shards raining down on his bare feet. The nearest figures cracked like ice after a long winter, stirring and wrenching the shadows coils away from their bodies.

Tom's gaze snapped to them, back to Harry, back to the mirrors.

Harry snatched up a shard, holding it out between them as a weapon. Breathing harsh.

"You wouldn't," Tom hissed. "You want to go back to that pitiful existence you had the audacity to call your life? Nobody wanted you. I am the only creature that has ever wanted you. I was your salvation!"

"Turns out," Harry said. "I don't need anyone to be my salvation. Thank you for teaching me that. Now give me my heart, and maybe I can still be yours. Because god knows that they have been cold for so long that their mercy might be a little lacking after what you did to them."

A flicker of fear crossed the shades' faces, the first Harry had ever seen. Then it was blank again. "They cannot defeat me."

He smashed another mirror, and another as Tom pounced to drag him bodily away from the grand tent. But Harry wasn't alone anymore. The freed human-fey turned on their King, hearts throbbing weapons to lay assault on the hall of mirrors.

They had eaten food. They couldn't leave when Riddle wouldn't let them. Sheer spite perhaps, a desperate clutch for crumbling control over his throne.

Harry needed his heart - the deal had been struck, after all. If not for him, then for them.

Tom's howl as mirrors shattered was the worst sound that Harry had ever heard, something raw and achingly, unnervingly human. The shades began to flicker like a bad connection, growing more shadowy as their power lessened under the unwavering attack.

Harry tore away and sprinted through the hall of mirrors.

It was disorientating. He often found his palms hitting glass, instead of a path, and saw his own frightened eyes and pale face looking back at him more than a few times. He ended up keeping one hand against the wall to track his movements.

He ran, breathing heavily, the absence in his chest a vacuum, a siren song that tugged him along – he broke air and staggered to a halt.

"Tom…"

In the centre, upon the ringmaster's chair, sat a boy.

A boy with dark hair and dark eyes that held a different kind of knowing. Sucked dry of colour, skin crystallized by glass with a top hat sitting on his head. Inside his transparent chest rested a heart almost obliterated by shadow. It didn't shine, couldn't penetrate the darkness smothering it as it pulsed weakly against its restraints.

It wasn't Harry's heart. It wasn't a fey's heart either, glassy and perfect, despite its casing.

He saw his own in the treasure box that Tom had always kept him in - radiating light even closed and locked.

How did a Fey King end up with a court of ghosts and no one like him? They didn't. Unless a Fey King had been a human once too.

Harry swallowed, staring at the faded thing as he stepped closer to the throne. He forced himself not to get distracted. He smashed the hated treasure box and plucked his heart out. Warm rushed him so hard and fast that it brought him shuddering to his knees.

He had forgotten what warmth felt like. He'd forgotten what being whole felt like.  
He turned again to the boy in the throne, to the six mirrors behind him.

All he needed to do was smash them, and it would all be over.

The tendrils of shadow spread from the trapped and broken heart in Tom's chest into the six mirrors. Even as Harry watched, tendrils of control dissipated away as more and more hearts in the fairy ring were freed from their bonds. Each time they did, the glass boy splintered a little. Chipped a little. Broke a little more.

He needed to focus on the mirrors but he moved closer instead. The light of his heart faded as it settled back in its rightful place.

"I have my heart back - free them now," he told the glass boy. "We had a deal."

The glass shattered and Tom stirred on the chair - but the darkness coiled around his heart didn't let up. It stayed wrapped around him like a monstrous serpent, even as the house of mirrors crashed down around them.

Harry glanced around him. Everywhere, hearts and light sped towards the door.  
The last, final six mirrors stayed standing.

Tom blinked, before meeting his gaze.  
"Hello Harry," he said. "Are you enjoying yourself?" There was no purr in his voice this time.

"Tell me how to help you."

Tom laughed at the demand. His eyes remained cold, hard, unforgiving.  
"If you break those mirrors, you shatter the connection with the human world. You know that. You will be trapped here with me, for all eternity. You won't be able to save yourself."

"Tell me how to help you." Harry begged it now, reaching out a hand to caress the writhing shadow. It hurt his fingers it was so cold, he didn't know how Tom could stand it.

"No."

Harry let his eyes trail over worn clothes, over ribs sticking out a starved body.

"There is nothing here for you to rule anymore," he said through gritted teeth. "Tell me how to help you."

"You are free to go, Harry Potter. You have your heart, you never ate, there is nothing to keep you here. You are free to go, that was our deal. Now run."

The circus would grow again, Harry was sure of it. The doors to the immortal court were flung open and welcoming, to any lost soul desperate enough to wander into an abandoned fairground. To smile back at a handsome, dark-eyed, charming boy.  
  
Harry plucked the ringmaster's hat off Tom's head and set it jauntily on his own, staring Tom down as the boy's eyes widened in shock.

Harry flung himself at the glass and felt his heart shine and shine and shine.

* * *

In a field in England there is a fairy ring. A small, perfect circle of grass and wildflowers with a flyer half buried into the dirt.

_The Circus of Riddles.  
Open Halloween Night Only._

No one has ever heard of such a thing.

But even eternity doesn't last forever.

**Author's Note:**

> This was last year's Halloween oneshot. Not sure why it took this long to get posted here. (Thanks Lydia_Theda for reminding me it existed.) But yeah, I quite like the premise of fairy rings as circuses. So I thought I'd post it. Maybe I'll fiddle and add another chapter sometime, but we shall see. Next Halloween muhahaha.


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